


Legacy

by margotdavid



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Archeron's Are From the Continent, Attempt at Worldbuilding, F/M, Flashbacks, Like Nesta won't see Cassian for years, Marriage of Convenience, Mrs. Archeron Family Is Important, Nesta Archeron-centric, Nesta Doesn't Go To Illyria, POV Cassian (ACoTaR), POV Lucien (ACoTaR), POV Nesta Archeron, POV Vassa, Political Alliances, Politics, Post-Book 3.5: A Court of Frost and Starlight, She Goes Back To Her Roots, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:55:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28756224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margotdavid/pseuds/margotdavid
Summary: Broken by a war she had no desire to be in, Nesta must find her place in the world. She knows it is not in the Illyrian camps, not even Prynthia.Unable to look forwards, Nesta looks back.Perhaps her future starts by facing her past. With the help of unlikely friends: a Fae of three courts and none, an exiled Queen, and a mortal in his second life, Nesta might build a legacy bigger than she could imagine.
Relationships: Elain Archeron & Feyre Archeron & Nesta Archeron, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Jurian & Lucien Vanserra & Vassa, Nesta Archeron & Lucien Vanserra, Nesta Archeron & Vassa, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Original Character(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 62





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Nesta Archeron sat in the armchair next to the fireplace.

The library of the house of Wind became her safe-haven from the members of the Night’s Court.

The quiet priestess and Nesta had a silent agreement. She would allow Nesta to hide from everyone else in exchange, Nesta would leave a human book on the table or some annotation about the mortal lands for the curious Fae to read.

Nesta had, at one point, sat in her peaceful corner and saw a book on the history of the mortal lands on the table. It was a drawn-out reading. It took Nesta twenty hours to finish, but the book proved itself very interesting. It showed her how Fae saw humans and failed to grasp most of it.

The following day, as a show of gratitude, Nesta left a lengthy paper on her desk before she retired for the day. On it, she explained some points on Human Society the author had gotten wrong.

Her silent companion began to leave books for Nesta to read. Food began to appear when Nesta was too engaged in her reading, a gesture she appreciated. Even in her youth, when she lived in the capital of Francia, the youngest lady in the Queen’s household, she lost herself in the large library, and had to be found and called back to her duties.

Nesta closed her eyes, allowing the smell of books to hit her nostrils. She staggered in her seat, a feeling of weariness overwhelming her. Her news senses made the smelling stronger. She could hear her heartbeat in the silence of the room.

Nesta tried to focus on the words on the page. _Remember how you longed for a library like Francia's. There it is. Focus on that. Focus on the pages_.

Nesta had long ago learned to push unwanted things into small boxes and burying them in hidden corners of her mind. It was an old mental exercise, she had learned at Grandfather's knee _. Mental fortitude is the key to keep your mind to yourself_.

She missed her grandfather, the formidable and proud lord who taught Nesta more than anyone alive. She missed her friends, Silvius and Dorian, cousin Tristan. She missed Francia, the old castle with the most famous court on the western side of the Continent, the harbor full of ships and life, even the Archeron estate in the countryside where she was born.

When Feyre told her about Velaris and its beauty, in her foolish head, Nesta pictured Francia.

Her mind forecasted the narrow cobblestone streets with people walking or horse riding, stone buildings with colorful cloths, or painted doors and windows. She imagined markets with people from every corner of the world, speaking half a dozen languages and selling distant imports.

She saw little of it. Velaris was a city of white marble and with streets projected to straight perfection. Everything looked so put together that it screamed inhuman hand.

 _That is because this place was not built by humans. Humans build imperfect streets and buildings that make no sense being there. It gives character to their cities. It shows how it evolves with time_.

Everything seems frozen in Velaris.

Lord Rhysand had given Elain and Nesta rooms in his castle – no, House of Wind – a beautiful crowned building that looked more imperious than any castle Nesta had seen. It was taller than it was longer, but Nesta guest stairs were not a problem for people with wings.

The castle of Nesta's youth began as a single tower that expanded its size for 500 years.

Everyone was happy in Velaria.

From what she saw, there were not beggars nor orphans living in the streets of Velaris. But also no house of justice nor a throne room where Rhysand held court. She couldn't understand their system.

Nesta studied the system all her life. It was how she knew her place in society. Before their father's disgrace, she was trained by the best tutors money could buy, and had a front seat to court life. She watched up close how a kingdom was ruled. When the Spring Lord paid for their silence, Nesta used all she learned about the system to get the life she wanted.

She was proud of it.

Sweet Elain had found love in Lord Graysen. A young but well-respected lord, and with the lands that he would get from his father, would become one of the most powerful landowners in Prythian. She hated his father, Lord Nolan, whose political views clashed heavily with the new wave which she was part of, but the son was much more open-minded.

A year of building a network, Elain with her charities and balls, Nesta with the title of Lady Archeron, and a position on the council, all thrown away the moment Feyre came knocking on the door and asking that they committed the highest of crimes.

She had been so close to getting it all back. She was a legal adult in all lands. Her father was drinking his life away somewhere with the little money Nesta gave him. The eldest Archeron sister had proof of his incapacity.

Nesta was Head of the Archeron house.

Grandfather had replied to Nesta's letters for the first time in years.

She was going back home, not as a disgraced lady like she expected, but a woman who used her education to make something out of herself. Nesta became the reflection of a graceful, clever, and virtuous lady, which was all she aspired to be in her youth.

Grandfather promised Nesta all she could ever hope for.

Elain would wed the smitten Lord. He would treat her like the princess she deserved to be. Elain could spend her time doing charity work and working on a garden as she wished. Nesta would get all her inheritance back and a court position that would be permanent and unquestioned.

She had plans she could have set in motion. She could be with child by now.

Instead, she was suffocating. Imprisoned inside a body she was unable to look at. In one moment she couldn't control, Nesta became the only thing that would never have been accepted in Francia. _Fae_.

"So this is where you've been hiding, sweetheart." A familiar voice said. Cassian stared at her, seeing her choice of clothing for the day. “You look very put together today, Nes. Going for a ride with your books?” His eyes shone with amusement.

A shot of anger came over her, and she shut the book with a loud bang, just in time to hide the parchment that the High Lord would not like seeing her read, amidst the pages.

It was a poetry book written by someone who had translated Illyrian old tales. Nesta loved the tragic tales. Elain, who barely spoke or left their apartments most days, usually fell asleep while Nesta read them. A peaceful sleep, not one where she would pass out crying.

"Illyrian love poems," The grin in Commander made her grit her teeth.

Cassian was clad in dark leather. Illyrian leather. Amren had told her it was the best in all of Prynthia. The leathers did little to hide his musculature body, molding to his arms and broad-shoulders like a second skin.

Nesta saw many knights and warriors in her life, but she had never met one whose body screamed power without even trying. Even with his hair was pulled back in a bun, a look no man would be seen wearing, he looked every inch a commanding male.

_Stop it! Stop looking at his body! And his stupid hair!_

Looking at his face, Nesta saw the grin growing, and she hoped that her cheeks weren't red. Nesta was starting to hate this stupid weakness in her. She had never been a blushing maid. She despised those giggling fools. It was enough to be in a body she hated. She drew the line at looking like a witless fool.

“What do you want? Don’t you have an army to command?”

Any man would react to such a provocation, even the most control of lord would never accept a woman to talk at them in such ways; the general was not most men it seemed.

“They can wait.” He said, making himself comfortable against a bookshelf.

Nesta would hope that the lack of a sitting place beside her own would be a red warning. It seemed Lord Rhysand’s court lacked polished tact. Her eyes roomed the table to see if any of the books she had on it would cause any alarm. Fortunately, they didn’t.

Nesta picked up the book on the history of post Wall and pretended to read it.

“I was expecting you at the training grounds.”

_Not this again._

“I have no idea why you would imagine such a thing.”

_You want make me one of your soldiers. I refuse._

“You should learn to defend yourself Nes,”

Feyre had been taught in archery. It was not very common for a lady but was still an accepted skill. Wearing what Feyre did and act as she did, was not. Father had forced his youngest into a role that he knew would never be accepted by her family. Feyre was unmarriageable in any social circle.

Despite what caused Nesta, she was pleased that Feyre got the freedom to act like herself.

Nesta, however, did not have that freedom. She never did. Her grandfather would never accept a woman acting as Feyre did. Without grandfather’s acceptance, Nesta would never return to the continent and the country that was her home.

 _Grandfather won’t allow a Fae into his lands either. He might have tried to save you for burning for inviting them into the Mortal Lands. They weren’t his lands anyway. But he will never allow a monster like you in his country. He would kill you himself_. The voice mocked her. Like always, it sounded like her mother.

“Why? Do you plan to force me into battle or expect anyone to come and kidnap me again? Isn’t this supposed the ‘safest city in Prynthia’?”

He flinched at that. He always reacted when Nesta spoke of the event that turned her into the monsters of her childhood. Nesta learned in one of the books that to Illyrian's a broken promise is the greatest shame one could carry.

“I’ll keep you safe, but war is coming. You should learn to protect yourself, Nes.”

His tone was soft, but all Nesta could see was a man – _male_ \- condescending he. Like always.

“I am well aware of what war looks like. I plan to be as far away from it as possible. Now, leave.”

To make her point, Nesta picked up the poetry book and began reading it. Cassian shifted on his feet. From the corner of her eyes, she could see his lips trying to form words, a way to keep the conversation. Nesta turned the page.

“If you want to see how Illyrian romance sweetheart, you don’t need to read those books. I can show you.”

She refused to look at his face and ignored the meaning of his words. Instead, Nesta reply with words that she knew would leave her in peace. “I didn’t know bastards could read. Do High Lords teach their brutish pet?”

She raised her eyebrow in response to Cassian's anger, managing to hide the way her legs trembled. Nesta knew he wouldn't hurt her. Not physically. Either way, Nesta refused to show weakness by staring at him.

His hazel eyes burned with a fire that made green flecks shine.

Nesta and Feyre inherited the Ecthelion blue-grey eyes from their mother, but while her sister's eyes were playful and expressive, hers were cold and aloof. 

Nesta was used to seeing green eyes in humans, but they were paler. Cassian's green was like the deepest leaves. They brought up the memories of the beautiful gardens of her youth.

She could see the accusations he wanted to shout, but also that awareness that if he did so, he would lose ground. Like a good general when confronted with an unmoving opponent, Cassian retreated. 

_Does Cassian play chess?_ Nesta shook the strange thought away from her brain.

“I’ll see you at dinner, sweetheart”

Nesta told herself that she did not let her gaze fall from his figure until he was out of eyesight because she wanted to be sure of her privacy. Only when she could hear nothing but her heartbeat did Nesta opened the letter she had carefully hidden.

> _Lady Nesta,_
> 
> _I am troubled about the news you shared with me about your youngest sister. I offer you and Elain my condolences in this time of need, and as the head of this family, I assure you that the taint will not follow you nor Elain._
> 
> _My informants found your father where you expected him to be. At your best, I did not have my men apprehend him and bring him to face the King’s Justice, despite his treason against his countrymen. Your and Elain’s sentiments must be spared more heartbreak, and the King and I will offer you this mercy. The Queen has also publically pleaded your case. In her, the king found the righteousness and the mercy needed and, by royal decree, has granted you and Elain full immunity. You were children, added to the family ties and the courage you showed at such a tender age, you are not to be blamed for his crimes._
> 
> _You shall be granted all the lands that had once belong to your father, according to the King's Law. Your mother’s inheritance was to be split between you and Elain, but seeing as your sister is to wed a lord for Prythian, we shall have to ensure the properties stay in our hands. Despite preferring to have Elain married in Francia, I understood the urgency of your situation, and congratulate you for arranging such a fine match._
> 
> _You prove yourself as an asset to this family, and I trust you will keep doing your duty to our family._
> 
> _About your father’s youngest child._
> 
> _You are an intelligent woman, Nesta, you know the_ _repercussions that this can have to our family. I am pleased that you kept such unfortunate news from reaching anyone outside the family. I to grief the young lady Feyre could have been, but you must let her go._
> 
> _About this Queens. It is true that their alliance is back again. Francia refuses to accept such a thing, and do some of the lower countries. I urge you and Elain to come back home as soon as possible or to take shelter as far as possible from those Fae monsters._
> 
> _War is coming, even on the Continent if the Wall is no more. War is no place for women, and you are needed here._
> 
> _Remember our history, Nesta._
> 
> _Your Lord and Grandfather._

By now, Nesta knew it backward. She had received the letter days before her and Elain's kidnapping and the events that turned her into the monster her Grandfather warned her about.

She studied the elegant calligraphy, her fingers gently trailing the perfect swirls. The letter was written by her grandfather. Not some scribe or assistant. To Nesta, it meant a great deal more than it should.

Despite the years that passed, Nesta never forgot her grandfather's handwriting. She was used to seeing it every day when she was his ward, and she knew how he frequently he passed on writing his lesser correspondence to scribes. It had been Nesta's favorite occupation once. She was too old to keep doing it, and her tasks would be others if she ever returned home.

The words were also his own, for the almost scripted way he dealt his condolences to the cruel way he pushed Feyre aside the moment she became a liability. Like the famous yet terrifying side of Grandfather, Nesta pushed the thought of what he would do if he could _deal with the problem_ he deemed Feyre as away from her brain.

Feyre had an entire court to protect her and new powers that meant she didn’t need protection.

Nesta and Elain did not have a court to fall back onto. Power. Nesta pushed that line of thought away. She needed to find a reliable source of protection to shield herself from the coming war. She had not lied to Cassian. Nesta, of all of the Archeron sisters, knew what happened in wars. Especially to beautiful women, and Nesta knew she was well above common in her looks. She remembered the lust in the King's eyes as he looked at her, how the guards asked to "take turns" on her. The brutal way Hybern dealt with the two soldiers who tried to force themselves on Nesta.

And he called Elain "the pretty one".

It was true. Elain was the prettiest of the three. A princess out of fairytales. Perhaps Elain, whose soft appearance made her into a figure that needed protection, would find shelter in Lord Rhysand’s court. With time Feyre could help Elain heal and accept herself. Fae did not lack time.

It was a sound plan. Not the first time, Nesta thought it either.

Nesta, however, was not Elain. She never was and would never be. She wasn’t Feyre either. Feyre with her warrior skills and courageous heart. Feyre who protected with her hands and with her actions.

Nesta was raised to be a consort to princes. She learned to dance, to sing, to recite poetry, to play music, but most importantly, to always look like a lady.

Much was expected of her, and the Queen taught her how to understand court life, organize balls, converse with emissaries from faraway lands, and rule an estate of the side of a country. _I have always done my duty to our house, even when Father turned a traitor, Grandfather knows it. It is the main reason why he cherished her best._

Taking a fortifying deep breath, Nesta picked up the finest parchment she owned and began writing a reply.

> _To My Lord and Grandfather,_
> 
> _I ask for forgiveness for my delay in reply to your letter, but I fear the wheel has turned abruptly. Firstly, I must tell you I am no longer in the Mortal Lands and that while I've been ensuring I could send you this letter, I cannot guarantee it's confidentially nor another change of a reply._
> 
> _Secondly, and most disastrously, Elain and I were turned into High Fae's. Your contacts will confirm that Elain and I were kidnapped from our home. We were used as both punishment to Feyre's court and made into "tryouts" in their eagerness for immortality._
> 
> _It turned against the Queens' plan. I've been informed that my reaction to being turned caused some reaction in the Cauldron. Afterward, the first Queen died when she got inside. They didn't try again and probably won't. They have made it clear they wish to come after me for revenge._
> 
> _In accordance with the Law, as I am no longer human, my rights are revoked. I understand it and bend my will to that of the Kingdom's laws, for despite no longer being mortal, my soul will always belong to Francia._
> 
> _As for our location, we have sought refuge in the Night Court, where we were placed under Lord Rhysand's protection. Lord Rhysand is mated to Feyre. Both are key figures in the war to come as I have explain it in previous letters._
> 
> _I have not had a word from my father since we last traded letters. He must be known what happened to us. I urge you to find him and tell him. I plead for the opportunity for a fair trial and beg you and the King to show mercy to a childless father._

Nesta put down the pen and tried to stop her shaking hand. She could feel the waves inside her. Something urging to explode. Remembering Amren lessons, she blocked inside very well constructed walls.

She took a deep breath and read her words. She almost scoffed at how meek and yielding she sounded, but knew it was needed. Remembering why she was writing the letter, she continued.

> _As the last Lady Archeron, and about to be declared dead, I dareby leave all of my lands to my direct heir. However, I declare that the remaining fortune must be used to create an armada to be used in the defense against Hybern and those who seek to take down the Wall and put our people under direct threat. That my last as a lady of Francia, to be one of defiance against those who wish to enslave humans once more._
> 
> _In case I am no longer able to provide you with information, I say my farewell. I thank you for all you have done for me Grandfather, and I thank the Queen and the Princes for the generosity they showed me._
> 
> _Lady Nesta Archeron._

She got the old seal from the hidden pocket in her dress - human, for the refused to wear any other type of fashion – and used it to close the envelope. Inside it was the letter, but also a list of information she had gathered on the Night Court since her arrival in the hidden code her Grandfather had taught her years ago.

.

.

She took each step with care to make as little noise as possible. She kept her posture perfect and her face masked.

The spymaster was sitting in his office reading some report. Nesta awaited in silence, taking the time to examine the office.

The place had little decoration, apart from the bookshelves lined with books. There were two cabins made of fine oak wood. The same wood was used for his desk. The fireplace that warmed the place had above a map the Night Court. There was little character in the place he worked, but every detail was picked to be of use.

The walls, however, were made of darker stone than seen in most of the house.

As offices go, Nesta liked the Spymaster’s best. Not that she had seen the working place of many of the court members.

 _Grandfather would have proved_ _of this aesthetic_.

“Do you need something Lady Nesta?” His tone was cold and polite.

 _I wish they were all like him_.

Azriel was nearly perfect in appearance. But instead of giving him a desirable appearance, like the one Rhysand used as a mask, the spymaster’s beauty was almost troubled. An otherworldly beauty that was more like to kill you than love you. Subtly killing. Perfect for a spymaster.

Nesta envied him.

“My lord, I’ve been told that I could send a letter to the Continent.”

The man – _male_ – stopped what he was doing and the darkness that surrounded him tightened. The shadows – that Nesta pretended not to see – seemed to want to recoil at her presence.

Interesting.

“Please, call me Azriel. I’m no lord.”

Very interesting.

“You don’t need to call the members of the court my honorary titles. You don’t call Cassian lord.”

_I can see what you are doing. Your brother might irritate me, but you won’t be mentioning him._

“I’ve been informed he was a General. I haven’t been informed of your official title.”

Something dark moved in his eyes. He was trying to figure out where she fit in this place. Nesta could answer him, but wouldn't.

“You will find us an informal court. You don’t need to call us lords or ladies.”

_That makes no sense. I still don't understand what half of you do._

"It is proper etiquette."

The spymaster's lips curled slightly. “Neither way, I am sure you came here for more than lessons on etiquette.”

_I like you, spymaster. It is good to know there is one member who can play the game in this place._

Nesta felt a thrill she hadn’t felt since her last “chat” with Lord Nolan. Nesta stood by his desk, silent.

“There is a post that will take the letter.”

“Not to the human realms.” Azriel gave her a look that asked for elaboration. “My father is in the city of Poitiers. A human settlement. I wish to send him a letter to tell him we are safe and sound.”

 _He can read lies better than the others_ , a voice whispered seductively in her mind. Nesta swore the shadows took a step back.

“I didn't know you were in contact with your father. I am sure Feyre would like to know.”

"Feyre is at Spring Court. And the lady I keep in contact with mostly receives my money to pay for his tab. And the alehouse sells more than ale," Nesta added a sneer. Azriel seemed to become more interested. "I have been in contact with the servant he _favors_ the most. Let my sisters keep their innocence about my father's faithfulness to my mother and her ghost."

The spymaster didn't hide his surprise. Not did Nesta spoke a single lie this time around. The servant just happened to be of Grandfather's paycheck as well. Nesta and Elain had successfully hidden their father's faithfulnesses from Feyre. After their exile, Nesta kept it from both sisters, how their father spent the little money they had in more than wine. She hid it so well that Nesta believed Feyre didn't even know father was rarely at home when she went hunting. 

“Give me the name of the establishment and the lady, and I’ll have it sent by mortal means.”

Nesta gave him the letter, trying to hide her realization at the scars in his hands. A red sign of torture. Another mystery to solve.

“I thank you for your time.”

Nesta was about to leave when the man called her name.

“The eleventh book in the fourth shelf.”

Nesta walked to the place and soon found the book in question. The book’s cover was unadorned but painted in a stunning shade of cobalt. It wasn’t smaller, neither was it large. Opening it, Nesta could see it was written by someone who had perfect calligraphy but wasn’t showing it.

“There are annotations about deals done in the years after the War. It is very straightforward and lacks any observation.”

Nesta scanned the page she had opened. It spoke of some trade deals between the Night’s and Summer court that failed to come to fruition. Another page spoke of the long term war between the Night Court and Spring.

Azriel was giving her information. Important information. Does he know about the spying? Impossible. The only information she wrote while in the Night Court was in that envelope. Was he testing her? More likely.

“I give it back as soon as possible.”

“Keep it for as long as you like it.”

Nesta stared at the spymaster who had returned to his work. Her letter was atop a small pile. Nesta fought the urge to protect it. She wrote the letter in Francian and with a secret code. It would mean nothing to the spymaster, she told herself.

“Once again, thank you.”


	2. Nesta I

Chapter 1 – Nesta I

_November 24, 477_

_Archeron Estate_

“The Forty Years' War was fought between the Kingdom of Francia and the Kingdom of Austrasia. The conflict began when King Oswald V died, leaving his only daughter as heiress after his young son died of illness. Princess Sylvana was Queen Consort of Austrasia at the time. So, if she became Queen Regnat, Francia would be annexed to their southern neighbors, Austrasia.”

“And that was a problem because?”

“Because Austrasia is a kingdom of brutes and barbarians.” Nesta flinched as the cane hit her hand. 

“You are smarter than that.”

Nesta took a deep breath before correcting her words, “Because Austrasia is an old enemy of Francia, and there is much hatred between the two lands. Many in Austrasia believed that the humans should ally with those Fae, but easily forget that Francia is the kingdom that borders the Wall, keeping them away from those monsters who wish to enslave us.”

“Good.” The teacher praised her.

Professor Rolfe was a master of the classics and rhetoric and was also schooled in the humanist arts. He was appointed as her personal tutor by Grandfather, and he took over the lessons Nesta had with the Governess who now only taught Elain.

It had been his birthday gift to Nesta, and not even mother could forbid the lessons. He also played chess, the board game that Grandfather introduced to Nesta when he came to visit, and she was now learning. He was a tall man, but very slim. His mother had been a lady from the Kingdom of Bretagne, and he had inherited her dark hair and eyes.

Nesta looked to the glass doors that opened to the gardens and watched the early morning sun shining on the flowers. She could hear the gardener and the washerwomen going about their day. Her eyes caught the boy Feyre had befriended, a son of the baker, carrying sacks of flour that likely weighed as much as Nesta.

She looked at the grand library clock. It was almost 9. _Soon Elain would be going to the Governess for her morning lessons. Feyre would probably hide in the kitchen making her usual mischief._

Feyre, at almost four, was deemed by their mother as too young for lessons. Nesta almost wished to protest ( _ladies do not contradict their betters_ ). Nesta had been three when her lessons started, and Elain had joined at the beginning of the year. _Elain and Feyre are a year apart. Why does she get to play around while Elain needs to have lessons?_ _At three, I already knew the alphabet and was learning to write._

Father might favor Nesta, but he always called his youngest daughter his _willful little bird_ with a laughing tone. Nesta was his _lioness_ , but he never smiled when he said it. He convinced their lady mother to let Feyre run around more instead of studying.

It angered Nesta that their mother had agreed when she was forbidden to spend more time in the library or go to the city’s school and watch the open classes with her professor.

_It is not fair! The art of rhetoric and philosophy should be studying through speaking and debate. Every ancient scholar says so!_

“Lady Nesta, what was the moment that decreed that a war was evident?”

Nesta had to think of her reply. “When the Old King allowed his brother to wed Lady Nesta Ecthelion.”

The professor’s cold eyes watched her. “Explain.”

“Most agree that it began when the Old King died in February. Master Claude points to the 22 of March of 414, the date Princess Sylvana was crowned Queen by her husband in Austrasia. While her being crowned by a foreign King and a foreign land was foolish and turned many against her. Master Claude and other historians agree that the point was to legitimize her claim against her uncle and great-grandfather Olyvar.

"But you don't agree."

Nesta nodded. Grandfather had told her a lot about the War.

“Silvius was the King’s only surviving sibling. While his first wife had failed to produce a son, he had acknowledged two bastard sons, proving his ability to sire male heirs. His only daughter, Sylbia, was wed to Duke Olyvar Ecthelion, and by taking the sister of his son-in-law as his queen, he gained the unwavering loyalty of his lord in the country. Queen Nesta, even as a lady, was well-loved and, above all, not foreign, which swayed the commoners to his side.”

He gave her a proud nod but still challenged Nesta, "True. However, many believe Princess Sylviana was the heir."

“She was a woman, and while well-educated and a known beauty, she was passed her prime. She had only birthed one son, and her daughters were wed to foreigners. But tell me, what caused the civil war?”

Nesta knew better than agreed and repeated her grandfather's explanation, "She was a woman, and while well-educated and a known beauty, she was past her prime. She had only birthed one son, and her daughters wed to foreigners."

The professor’s stern month didn’t move, but she saw a sparkle in his eyes. “Clever girl. I shall write to your grandfather, he’ll like to hear about your progress."

Nesta leaned forward on the table, "What do you think caused the war?"

“The fact that the Old King died without telling who his successor would be. He should have made that clear the moment his son died. Instead, he allowed two fractions to grow within his court for years.”

Nesta liked that explanation.

"We can end our lesson," he looked at the clock, "we still have a game of chess. Then, I’ll escort you to the ladies' boardroom for your other lessons.”

. 

.

Nesta sank her hands into the cold water Elain and Mara, her maid, poured for her. With her eyes tightly closed, Nesta fought against the burning tears that threatened to fall.

_A lady never sheds tears in front of others. And it’s your fault, stupid girl!_

At the age of seven, the oldest sister of the Archeron family was fully aware that her position in society was distinct. Her mother had failed to birth a son, and without a male heir, the hefty Archeron's inheritance, and even her mother's considerable dowry had no direct heir.

No matter how bright she was, Nesta could not inherit without a husband. As a mere woman, she did not have judicial power to oversee her lands. However, her father deemed that Nesta should be raised as the _de facto_ heir. A position deemed by most as unsuitable for the gentler sex. Therefore, when Nesta made mistakes her punishments needed to be harder.

Unfortunately, she was still a girl, and because of such, the humiliation of suffering the rod for her stupid mistakes made her furious with herself. That was the cause of her tears. _I need to be smarter like Grandfather. I need to be like a man. Men don't cry or plead like stupid girls. They probably wouldn't even feel the pain of the rod on their backsides and hands._ Feeling no pain, that was a worthy notion in Nesta’s young mind.

“Your lady mother is expecting you in the drawing-room. You know she does not tolerate lateness on her daughters,” Maid Mara told her with her typical gentle tone.

Elain gave her a pair of white doeskin leather gloves embroidered with delicate pink flowers and trimmed with silver ribbons. _Mother’s work_ , Nesta could tell for its perfection. Elain had their mother’s skillful hands but lacked the precision that came with practice and age. Nesta's skill at embroidery was passable. Her skills lied in music. 

Taking the afternoon meal would be slightly painful with the small cuts in her hands, but at least the governess had deemed Nesta’s mistakes in her calligraphy not appalling to the point she would need to punish Nesta by canning her tights as well. _At least I have the gloves. I thank however invented them._

As she put on her gloves, Elain steered her to the full mirror. 

Her eyes studied the girl clad in a turquoise satin gown embroidered with pink delicate flowers on the bodice. It was pretty, and it was deemed appropriate for a tea reception. Straightening her posture, she adjusted the dress and made sure it did not show any wrinkle.

Four small strands of hair were pulled back, where they met in the back of her head and formed a braid over Nesta's flowing golden locks, a maidenly hairstyle that mother would like. Out of the three sisters, Nesta was the one who more resembled Evalina Archeron, and her hair was her pride and joy.

The famed golden-red hair of the Ecthelion mixed with the Archeron's chestnut brown in her sisters. Elain had the darkest shade, a golden brown that in some lights showed little gold, but instead, it highlighted the coppery strands that brought out the richness of her doe eyes. Feyre's hair was the perfect mix of golden locks and brown strands, a blonde in the sun, a brunette indoors.

Nesta's hair was the least manageable with its curls and waves. Normally she braided it off her face. Nevertheless, today it was not to be. _Maidens wore their hair flowing down their back, not in a commoners braid_ , Mother's voice echoed in her mind.

“You look very pretty Nes.”

“Your sister is right, Lady Nesta.”

Nesta was more concerned with checking her eyes.

“You can relax, Nes, your eyes don’t look swollen.”

 _The cold water helped with that too,_ Nesta knew. It was a trick she had learned for Mara, and it had been of utmost use. “I’ll be going then. Mara, our Governess gave us the rest of the day off. Elain can go play with Feyre in the gardens.” 

Elain smiled and kissed her sister's cheek. The middle daughter knew full well that the woman only said they were free of classes for the day and spoke nothing of spending the time playing. Nesta, however, saw how Elain looked at the gardens during the past hour. 

“I can go with you.” Elain offered with a gentle smile worthy of a lady of the highest rank.

Suddenly, Nesta remembered a conversation she had spied between her parents when everyone believed she was playing with her sisters.

“ _Elain is gentle as befitting of a lady while Feyre is willful, but she can be trained out of it. And it is not so worrisome in a younger daughter. Nesta is clever and far too opinionated. I fear not even the rod can get it out of her”_ Mother always made Feyre’s attitude sound childlike appropriate while Nesta’s was always a thorn that needed to be cut.

Or punished.

“Mother asked for me alone, Elain. Today is a very sunny day, go play with Feyre in the gardens. Soon it will be too cold to play outside.” 

Taking measured slow steps, _for a lady does not rush to places_ , Nesta made sure to keep her back straight and her face like those marble statues mother loved so much.

 _Look like Grandfather, but lace your hands at the front, never at the back._ Nesta had taken a very hard punishment when she tried to copy her Grandfather’s pose in etiquette lessons.

“ _You are a lady Nesta, not a commander. Goddess, child, how unnatural you can be at times.”_

Nesta shook the memory away and strode inside the drawing-room.

Inside the bright room, she found Mother in a chat with a very familiar face.

Evelina Ecthelion Archeron was twenty-nine years old mother of three, but a woman whose beauty no one could deny. Slender and graceful like a princess out of tales, her face showed little signs of age, and her cool features showed a delicacy that Nesta knew was caused by her frail health. She was dressed implacably and to stand out. Her dress was unadorned, but the green lime satin made her shine. The overgown was of the same color but embroidered with gold lilies. Her hair was pulled into an intricate hairstyle, studded with pearls, leaving only small curls falling over her swan-like neck.

Nesta forced her gaze from her lady mother to the more subdued person on the white table.

Tall and lean, Uncle Oberon was dressed fashionable in doublet made of black velvet and white silk, wrought with silver that somehow was made him jovial. His blond curls were cut shorter than it was fashionable, and his beard spoke of days on the road. He still cut a handsome figure.

While Nesta enjoyed family visits, she was hoping to see her Grandfather. _He promised me a book on the laws of King Oswell the Lawmaker. Even some works from Cicero if I hide them from mother._ Mother had forbidden her to read such books as they were inappropriate for a lady and ever more for a maid of Nesta’s age. However, Grandfather had read some parts to Nesta on his last trip, and she had loved it. Perhaps I’ll write to him.

Nesta did a proper curtsey when she entered the room.

“Sweet Nesta, you look more graceful and beautiful every time I see you.” Uncle kissed her covered hand with the gallantry of a knight but with gleeful eyes.

“Thank you for your kind words, Lord Oberon. I hope you had an easy journey.”

“Uncle, please, my dear. And I found some entertainment along the road”, he said with a strange grin.

Nesta looked up to her mother, whose face did not change from its polite frame but whose eyes were coolly staring at her eldest brother.

Oberon Ecthelion was made Earl when he came of age. As the oldest son, he would one day be a Grand Duke, the second-highest-ranking noble in the realm. Because of it, Nesta never failed to show him the proper reverence, despite the kinship they shared.

Uncle Oberon pushed a chair for Nesta to sit. “Do sit, my dear niece.”

Nesta felt herself growing more comfortable under his gentle tone. It reminded her of Elain. Grandfather called his eldest son, The Smiler, for a reason. “We were just talking about you.”

Nesta failed to hide her uneasiness.

“All great things, I assure you. I heard you are a great dancer and a marvelous violinist. Do you perhaps sing?”

Singing was the most desirable court skill a lady could have. 

“I am passable at singing, Elain is better, and Feyre sounds like a cat when you step on his tail.” She could feel mother’s disapproving look, but uncle laughed, as she had expected. “Elain is the better embroiderer, and Feyre has a natural gift for painting, she began her horse ride lessons as well, and father is thinking of getting her an archery teacher.”

It has been her father's idea. Feyre loved outside life too much to be stuck in a room with Elain and Nesta. Her youngest sister also loved athletic activities, and archery, while uncommon, was still praised in ladies.

“Your grandmother loved archery,” Uncle Oberon said with a forgone look. “How were your lessons? I heard you have a new tutor.”

“Educational.”

Uncle laughed at her reply while mother gave her a cold look that promised reprimand later on.

“You are your grandfather’s get.”

That made Nesta smile.

Something shifted in uncle’s blue-grey eyes. More blue than grey. Nesta’s eyes moved to one of the portraits in the room.

Clad in a blue gown with a flared collar and a bodice decorated with pearls and rubies, tight undersleeves of white trimmed with gold, which were no longer in fashion, Princess Elain showed the colors of her married family. Nesta’s deceased grandmother had blue eyes and red hair. Her porcelain tone was the envy of many ladies. All of it was in grand display on the portrait had been commissioned by Grandfather upon the marriage.

“You never got to meet her.”

Nesta turned to her uncle, whose voice lowered in tone. 

Grandmother Elain died at thirty-eight. A year after giving birth to her mother, following a complicated birth. That mother survived was a miracle itself.

“Your grandmother was a very accomplished lady. You remind me of her, not in appearance, but spirit.”

Nesta beamed at the compliment. “Grandfather said Grandmother Elain was highly educated and graceful. She always showed decorum and had a sweet wit.” As Nesta said those things, she couldn’t help but think that she sounded nothing like her beloved grandmother.

Nesta had heard that despite having only two sons, and no brothers, grandfather refused to wed again despite the many propositions. On her last trip to Tirion Castle, grandfather showed her the small portrait that he kept of his wife in his office.

"Speaking of my sire, father wrote to me.” He turned to Mother with a more serious tone, “It seems that he wrote to you, but you failed to reply. He wishes for Nesta to join the Queen's household."

Nesta put down her cup with shaking hands. _Grandfather wants me to meet the Queen_! Alina Ecthelion was her Great-Aunt and the most beloved of Queens. Her court was a place of artists and scholars. Her mother was raised by Queen Alina and became the perfect lady. Nesta crossed her feet to stop herself from bouncing like a child. _And I get to live with Grandfather!_

“Nesta is seven, brother. Our Queen takes maidens and married ladies, not unpolished girls. Perhaps Lady Imogen would take a child on her household to keep company with her daughter. Princess Davina is of an age with Nesta.”

“You know Father would never allow an Ecthelion to serve a Rowan! It is bad enough our brother had to marry that Rowan’s heiress!”

“Then take Elain. She would do better in such a position. Gentle, softer, more feminine. She already shows great promise.”

Nesta never heard her Lady Mother speak to her family like this. To father, yes, many times, but not to _them_. She sounded almost troubled.

“Elain looks too much like your husband, and she lacks Nesta’s wits. Queen Alina takes in girls accomplished in more than gentlewomen’s work, and father would like his eldest granddaughter with him.”

Mother’s right hand turned into a fist, and Nesta for a moment saw a fire in her eyes. “She is a _child_! I know why you wish to take my eldest to court, and I won’t have it, brother! And if you believe my husband would agree to make his heiress the next royal mistress, you don’t know him very well.”

“Care how you speak.” Uncle Oberon said in a cold tone that reminded her of Grandfather. 

_What is a royal mistress?_ Nesta was very confused, but she tried not to show her stupidity. 

“She can always influence the young Prince in the way Lady Tatiana does his father. The women had made a landowner on her _own right_!”

“Please, Lady Tatiana? Father’s bastard, you mean. He put his bastard on the crown prince’s bed, and now he wants to train _my child_ for the job. Does he care at all for soiling her reputation? Or is this his punishment for me?”

“You might have married below your station but our family as much as royal blood as our sovereigns.”

Nesta knew both House Ecthelion and the Royal House of Velaryon family three ten generations back. There were many intermarriages between them. Both Nesta’s grandmother and great-grandmother were princesses of the blood, and Uncle Oberon was wed to Princess Sybil, his first cousin. Three of the last five kings were wed to Ecthelion’s.

“You want me to believe Grandfather and King Oswald want to marry Nesta, a girl whose father’s name comes from merchants to one of the princes?” Mother said in a mocking tone, but Nesta barely kept herself from leaping with joy.

 _Princess Nesta._ She could be a princess, maybe Queen Nesta one day. Like Good Queen Nesta, her namesake and great-grandmother who defended the country from those barbarians from Austrasia _. If I am Queen, the governess cannot cane me, and mother cannot say those cruel things. I can read all the books I want!_ She looked at the portrait of Princess Elain. _I would be the best of queens. Poised and dignify. Beautiful and intelligent. The perfect queen._

“Your husband's lineage leaves must to be desire. But the Archeron family name has been marrying to blue blood for seven generations past.”

“And his mother came from Poitiers. The Earl’s third daughter.”

Poitiers had once belonged to Francia, but after the “Queen’s Peace” and the forty years war, Austrasia got those lands. It was also the land below the Earldom of Oldport that the King awarded father after he married mother.

“Father will never forget that damn town. He won the war and won most the lands back, but his eyes are still fixed on that city!”

“The King won the war, sweet sister.”

“And yet father was the one who got a _dual_ Dukedom out of it.”

The two siblings stared at each other for some time. Nesta tried to understand this strange conversation but couldn’t.

“The King awarded Grandfather with the Duchy of Teleri for his brave actions in the war, and because his mother had been the previous duchess,” Nesta said to break the silence.

“Brave actions.” Uncle scoffed. “I am sure the people of Neustria and their old Duchess still cry over such acts of bravery. And let’s not forget Poitiers. The residents sure don’t.”

“Obe,” Mother’s voice was soft.

Nesta looked troubled with her uncle’s outburst. It was true that grandfather had won his first victory in Poitiers, and Neustria had fallen after a two-year siege to Grandfather and the King’s forces.

“Ignore your poor uncle and his old grievances. Tell me of you and your sisters. Your mother has nothing but praises for her daughters.”

Nesta doubted.

.

.

_September 4, 494_

_Lucien Apartment in Velaris_

“You’re Duke Ecthelion's granddaughter!” Vassa’s blue eyes were wide open. The glass of wine was thankfully empty, or Lucien's green couch would be paint red.

“Is that a big deal?” Lucien asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes! He is very well known on the Continent. They call him the Lion of Francia. His father was known as Kingmaker.”

“You have a great-grandfather called The Kingmaker?” Jurian couldn’t contain his gleeful expression with the amount of alcohol in his system, “Luc, why am I not surprise Nesta over here share blood with a man with such a title?”

They all turned to Lucien Vanserra, who for once didn't have a witty comeback. The formal Emissary of Spring Court had his mouth wide open and his hands frozen in the air. Vassa laughed ringed across the room, and Nesta bit her lip to stop her own.

The _Hot Mess Foursome_ – Vassa’s very unoriginal name for the group – had begun getting drunk together on occasion. Six times actually. It started when Jurian had found himself in Nesta’s favorite bar, and the newly made _something_ found herself naked in the resurrected mortal bed. 

“I can’t believe Feyre is the grandsire of royalty and never once said anything. Who am I kidding? Of course, she would forget to mention it.”

“Did you live in the court?” Vassa asked. “Francia is well known for its court life.”

“Yes,” Nesta replied. “My mother could dare to say no to my uncle Oberon, but she would never dare to utter a word against my grandsire. I had packed my bags and was at court in time to be presented at the Winter Solstice. The first one I spent away from my family.” Nesta found herself sharing some of her life almost easy with them. “I lived there for almost five years, but then my mother died.”

“Typhus, am I right?” Lucien spoke with a gentle expression. Nesta wanted to hit him.

“She had complicated health from birth, but her last years were too stressful for her. She was depressed and barely ate. I used to read grandfather’s reports from the estate.”

“Your grandfather received reports from his daughter’s household.” Lucien seemed stunned.

“He has spied in every household.” Nesta shrugged. “I got to read some of them. Feyre doesn’t know, but mother had two miscarriages after her birth. One had been a stillborn son, a year before she died. Before that, Elain heard the doctor arguing with our father about stopping trying for a son.”

“Men and their sons.” Vassa scoffed.

“One thing I don’t get. If your family is that powerful, why didn’t you return home for five years?” Lucien asked with sharp eyes.

Nesta was beginning to realize the male was associated with a fox for more than just his look.

_He is basically a prince and was an emissary. Obviously, he's sharper than he looks. No matter how Feyre underestimates him. Especially because of it._

“What do you know of Poitiers?” It was Vassa who made the question.

Nesta was pleased to see that the Queen of Scythia, despite her realm being two kingdoms away into the West, was well aware of the politics of the Eastern side of the Continent.

“It’s a coastland, small port, easily overshadowed by its neighbor Oldport.” Nesta raised an eyebrow at Lucien who added with a sly grin, “The coast turned to Prynthia. Know your neighbors, even those who have a sea between.”

Nesta conceded.

“It also contains the largest salt production in that side of the continent,” Vassa spoke. “Even Scythia buys from them, and it takes months to get the goods across the land, making it extremely expensive.”

The boys whistled.

“I can see why your country would want those lands.”

“But what does it have to do with Nesta?” Lucien asked.

“I had a claim to them. A smaller one, but still. The Archeron family basically ruled the town for four generations. My father had lost any right when he married a Francian, but he never forgot its origins, or what happened to the town after the Battle of Poitiers.”

“A good old sacking,” Jurian guessed dryly.

“Correct. Years before, at the begging of the war, my grandfather was a young squire when the Austrasian forces laid siege to Oldport, but he remembered well. His father was killed in battle and made a joke of by the opposite forces. When the tide of the war turned, my grandfather sacked the city. Allan Archeron was thrown off a tower. Rumors said he watched his wife and daughter being raped. His wife was paraded through the streets. No one can deny it. No one forgot so soon.”

“And your father still wed your mother,” Lucien spoke with doubt.

“Imogen Rowan, the future queen, was pro-peace and wished to wed her children to our formal enemies. And she hated my grandfather with a passion which resulted in -”

“A court of factions. Lucien guessed correctly.

“Poitiers in the middle.” Vassa continued. “Archeron’s formal land. Whose male line ended with-”

“My father. My father who was losing money and full of debts that he couldn’t pay, but still had the claim.”

“And a wife that came from two families so intermarried that was difficult to guess which one was the royal family and who was the one who actually owned most of the most land.”

“So you see, to my grandfather, I was a magnificent game piece to further his legacy. Perhaps wage war once again. To the Rowans-”

“You were a hostage,” Lucien said with a troubled expression while Nesta emptied her glass and got the bottle to refill it.

The silence lost longer than it was comfortable.

“So what prince did you like the most?” 

“Seriously, Jurian?”

“Dorian,” Vassa said with certainty.

“You meet Nesta’s almost-husband,” Lucien seemed ecstatic. “Tell me more.”

“Prince Silvius is the oldest. He has been wed for a decade, but I am pretty sure his wife will die a maid.”

“I never realized that about it,” Nesta said. Now, she understood the lingering looks with the squires.

“Prince Dorian is tall, handsome, and clever as they come. Skilled with a blade too, and not just the one he used in battle.”

“Vassa!” Nesta said in shock. “You’re a Queen.”

“He came to my court a few years ago. His grandfather hoped we married. Dorian Velaryon has a certain reputation, and I refused to wed a man who wouldn't be faithful.”

Something inside Nesta cooled. “Did he propose?”

“Not once. He made it clear he wasn't interested in it. He does have a long term mistress at court.”

“Twenty-seven.” Nesta took a deep swallow, letting the alcohol burn her throat. “And he is married. Technically, it was never consumed.”

“Nesta,” Vassa said, her blue eyes open wide. “How?”

“I was thirteen at the time. Dorian refused to bed a child.”

“That was not- I. You’re married!”

“Shit. I slept with a married woman.” Three pairs of eyes turned to Jurian, who paled. “Shit. I took the virginity of a married woman.”

“Jurian!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timeline
> 
> Year 470 30 March: Nesta is born  
> Year 472 21 July: Elain is born  
> Year 473 21 December: Feyre is born  
> Year 477 Nesta goes to live at Court.  
> Year 482 15 September: Evelina Ecthelion-Archeron died of typhus  
> Year 484 They lose their fortune and love to Pryntia.  
> Year 487 Feyre starts going on hunt parties


	3. Lucien I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien and Nesta's platonic-relationship begins. (Lucien joins Nesta Defense Squad)  
> Nesta finally eats.  
> Lucien talks with Feyre and comes to not so nice realizations. Also known as: that talk from ACOFAS but from Lucien's POV
> 
> He might also be bitter. It's up for debate ; )  
> (He totally is)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I edited this chapter I realized it might not be very Feyre-friendly.  
> But well, it is what it is.

Chapter 2 – Lucien I

_December 18, 494_

_Velaris_

Lucien knocked on the door and waited. He noticed that the sea-green paint had been recently applied, and marbled at the meaning a simple door carried.

Had Lucien not been tracking down information about the Continent he would not have noticed that sea-green one of the colors of the Archeron coat of arms. The knocker was a gold brass in the shape of a lion (the animal of her mother’s house), the door handler was silver and of course, the bottom rail was red, both were prominent colors in the arms of House Velaryon and House Ecthelion.

Lucien wondered if Elain would notice the meaning of the door. He knew Feyre wouldn’t.

Nesta Archeron opened the door, and his heart stopped.

Unlike most men, Lucien did not remember the first time he met Nesta, mostly because his focus was on Elain.

Elain was pretty, the most beautiful flower in a garden. Feyre had a beauty that would turn some headed, as it did, but her body was more athletic than it was considered desirable.

Either of them compared to Nesta Archeron, however.

There was a reason why the Commander and Eris had lusted after the eldest Archeron from the moment they set their eyes on her. Even his father, but he rather not think about that.

Nesta reminded him of the marble statues in his mother's garden or the tapestries on Tamlin's palace.

Nesta Archeron looked like a goddess of old.

_Too beautiful to be human._

_Too devastating to be a mere Fae._

It wasn't her beauty that made his heart stop, but her appearance. Nesta didn't resemble a goddess but a waif wasting away. The life-force that surrounded her aura was spent.

It wasn't her beauty that made his heart stop, but her appearance. Nesta didn't resemble a goddess but a waif wasting away. The life-force that surrounded her aura was spent.

Somehow, she maintained an aura of beauty and power but tinted with a fragility he wouldn't associate with her before. One would say she looked like a princess that called for protection.

Lucien knew better. The deadness of her eyes spoke more than the bones that he couldn't see because of her cloth.

Nesta didn't need protection but support.

_How could they have let her get to this point?_

He could smell the alcohol as she opened the door.

Lucien had five conversations with the woman. Three of them under the effect of alcohol but not to the point of looking like a walking corpse or on the break of being in a coma. He never imagined a woman like Nesta allowing herself to be so out of control.

A part of Lucien also wondered how Nesta could get drunk. Not even on the first day when they were all drunk, she seemed affected.

He had his theories about Nesta's powers. He wasn't the only one. Much of the Lords of Prynthia wondered. 

“Fox-face, weren’t you out of town?”

“I got into a fight with Tamlin.”

For a second, her eyes shone. A courtier through and through.

She looked ready for something.

Used to seeing Nesta wear human clothes, Lucien was surprised with Nesta's one layered gown that was clearly made in Velaris. But contrary to the Night’s Court's fashion, it covered her entire body. Despite its simple cut, Lucien judged the gown too fine to be worn at home.

And it is buttoned at the back. How did she manage that? 

Her hair was braided. It had taken an interesting conversation with Vassa to learn that married women never let their hair loose.

The crowned braid that was associated with Nesta started to have a whole new meaning. Apparently, human wives covered their hair – noblewoman got around it, but only on certain occasions, especially in their youth – something that Nesta did not.

According to Vassa, Nesta had been screaming, “I am married but still a maid” to the world for years.

Lucien touched the pocket hidden in his shirt and coat. It was freezing outside. He missed the warmth of Spring. _There is no point in missing something you can’t have_.

“And you came here?” She sounded anxious.

Like she was expecting someone else.

She still let him in.

He didn’t even pretend not to notice the number of locks her door had.

Nesta had not been in a good place after the war. But that was expected. Sooner or later, one would have to face grief and trauma.

But when Lucien left town, Nesta didn't appear this traumatized. 

But Vassa and Jurian left as well. Were we the only people keeping her company?

Had Nesta been lonely all this time?

A woman like Nesta shouldn't be left alone, no matter how much she screamed to be left alone. _You sit down in the same room as her, open a damn book, and offer a silent companion._

The Night Court didn't deal with soul-sickness that way. They wouldn't know how to deal with a woman like Nesta. 

Honestly, neither did Lucien.

Had Nesta been Feyre, Lucien would invite her to train and let out her pain through combat.

Had Nesta been Ianthe, Lucien would sit with her, offer her a warm drink - no alcohol - and listen to her. He would share a bed with her. Not to have sex, unlike many thought, but to hold her and be there for her. Ianthe was surprisingly soft with those she considered close. A list that grew smaller as the years went by to the point that at times Lucien believed he was her only friend.

Had Nesta been Jesminda and he would be the one being comforted.

Nesta Archeron was a mystery to Lucien. In his mind, she was the eldest sister of his mate and his best friend. Nesta was also the woman who slew the King of Hybern. A girl with no battle experience who was on the thick of a battlefield.

From what he learned, she was hard, prideful, cunning, and above all passionate.

Anyone willing to die with a man she had still wouldn't admit any type of feelings for was far from cold.

She did use that cold mask to perfection, however.

 _Cold_. Lucien hated that word. Now, he was surrounded by it. It was cold in Velaris, and Nesta was cold, not inside, but outside. Physically. 

Warmth. That was what they needed.

Hoping that he wouldn’t die, Lucien did something that would have shocked him days - minutes - ago.

Lucien Vanserra hugged Nesta Archeron.

She struggled at first, but he held firm. Lucien ignored her incredulous words, protests, even the beating of her small fist on his back. It didn't take long for her struggle to lessened, and her strength abandoned her. Something inside him moved when he felt her trembling in his arms. Only the silencer allowed him to hear the crying. Silent tears that spoke of years of practice.

_Twenty-four. She is twenty-four._

His hands found their ways to her hair. He undid pin by pin of her hair and let her hair free. It was oily, the result of going days unwashed, but he ignored it and slipped his fingers through it.

Eventually, she passed down.

.

Nesta's small living area was a mess. There were empty bottles all around, a kitchenette that was probably never used, the couch was the most uncomfortable and old looking thing Lucien ever saw, and the moth-eaten armchair made him want to burn it.

Once again, Lucien marble at the hidden secrets of Nesta Archeron. The couch fabric was purple and gold brocade – Velaryon colors. The colors of the armchair were diluted with time, blue with detail in silver – Etchelion colors.

He carried a sleeping Nesta to the bedroom while shaking his head.

The room was both perfectly put together and a mess.

Her brass poster bed had sheets in a desperate need of a wash, but the window seat was clean and had a soft pillow, something the bed clearly lacked. Her floor was piled with clothes, but the columns of books by the window were organized to perfection. At this point, Lucien would guess that they were either aphetically ordered or arranged by subject.

_I need to write to Vassa._

The exiled queen had invited Nesta to visited them in the moral land. According to Vassa, Nesta had stared as a reply. Perhaps it was time to remembered Nesta that she had a place. An occupation awaiting her.

It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was the only one he could offer.

He placed Nesta in the window seat as comfortable as the small space allow. He was unsurprised when she gave no signs of waking up. He controlled his urge to burn the sheets and threw them into the living room. He walked to the small armoire and found some clearer ones.

Once he finished making the bed, he let Nesta rest. Then he looked at the pile of clothes and wondered where he could find a place to wash those.

.

Lucien cleaned the apartment, bought food that wouldn’t need to be cooked, and then went out again to buy kitchen utensils when he realized those were missing from Nesta’s apartment. He still sent a troubling letter to Vassa and prepared a soft salad before Nesta walked into her living room.

“Fox-face, what are you doing here?” Her voice was filled with sleep.

Nesta’s dressing gown was a confection of ivory cotton with pretty lace and pastel pink ribbons at the hem. It was a feminine piece of clothing that looked like it should belong to Elain. Her hair was also loose. Messy curls. Nesta Archeron had messy curls.

She looked around and then at him. Her eyes fixed on the plate he was carrying. Her brows frowned.

“Did I fuck you?”

Lucien tried not to let it show how much that question troubled him.

“No. You fell asleep. I let you rest.”

Nesta looked around her clean apartment and pushed her lips.

“Do you want to eat? A made a salad.”

Nesta took slow steps as if he was a beast that could attack at any moment. It would have been amusing if Nesta’s condition wasn’t so heartbreaking.

She stopped by the plate that had been set for her. Her silver eyes were not on the food but the piece of paper next to it. A letter sealed with purple wax engraved with two griffins holding a crown. House Velaryon's royal signet.

Nesta's teeth pulled so hard on her bottom lip that Lucien feared it would cut it.

Nesta touched the seal and analyzed it for some seconds. Lucien did not feel angry that she suspected the letter had been open but marbled how she moved the letter to confirm it.

He was curious of its content but had not opened it, despite how much Jurian wished it.

_I hope this letter does more good than bad._

Nesta’s eyes found his face. He could see the question in them.

“Vassa went to visit Crown Prince Dorian. He wrote the letter.”

“Crown Prince? Since when is Dorian the heir?” Nesta gasped.

“His brother has been declared King. They are barely holding themselves together since the Wall fell. The court is very much divided about making deals with Fae. The King’s Mother was sent away after rumors of treason. Your name has been spoken.” More than once. “The Mortal Queens knew of your story, and Francia is known for their hatred of Fae.”

Nesta Archeron sat and opened the letter. With the way she was dressed, her perfect posture, the delicate way she ate and read, she looked every inch a princess.

It was a contrast to hours ago. One Lucien still couldn't shake off.

He was pleased, however, to see some light return to her eyes.

A little sparkle ignited.

“Francia was built by formal slaves! Everyone who was raised there knows the cruelty their ancestors lived through before the Wall. At Fae hands! The female founders were formal bed slaves and the men worked the fields and mines. King Oswald, the First, and his son King Silvanus worked hours in the construction sites to help build the capital of the kingdom. Can you imagine Rhysand or any High Lord doing the same? Working cobblestone? My countrymen would die on the fields before allowing Fae’s to control them again.”

Nesta’s hands were moving about, her face gained some flush, and her eyes were shone. Alive. She looked alive.

 _My countrymen. How telling_. _No wonder you hated what happened to you_.

"There are rumors that ambassadors from the Queen's lands have been sent to Austrasia."

Nesta didn't hide her worry.

"Neustria?"

"Unknown. They didn't call their armies, but there is no more information. They have been closed any border and notoriously difficult to spy."

"Always have. My grandfather hated it. And they hate my Grandfather." She stared at him. "Sit down, Foxface. I am not eating alone."

Lucien almost smiled. He took the seat in front of her and served himself some salad.

Nesta took a gulp of juice before speaking.

"Neustria has similar origins to Francia, despite their centuries-old rivalry. They don't forget easily. Again. Not good for my Grandfather. Tell me about Jurian's meeting with the Lords."

"They either worship him or want him to burn at the stake."

"Barbarous. The Continent forbade the burning of people 3 centuries ago."

"Well. Those who stand against Jurian plan to side with the Queens. There are rumors of revenge on the people of Hybern. The Queen's favor war against any Fae kingdom, but they need to unite the human lands beforehand."

"The Wall would fall again before they create a human empire. Do you have any idea how many have tried?"

"No."

Nesta rolled her eyes. "Of course. Do you learn nothing of human's in your princeling education?"

"I am not a princeling."

"Keep telling yourself that." 

They eat in comfortable silence for a while. Nesta, re-read the letter at the same time. Lucien was left not knowing what it said.

"The Queen's spoke of me. About what happened."

He didn't bother denying her. "Most of the human lord we have contact with have knowledge of it."

Nesta punched the table. "Fuck those Queens. They have been after me since Queen Demetra died trying to become Immortal."

Nesta looked at the unopened letter.

“Demetra. The Kingdom of Thebe is too close my Francia.”

"Demetra was too young and left no direct heir. There is too much infighting for the crown, for them to worry about outside wars."

"But such thing has to influence their policies."

"I know little of the fractions."

"Vassa would know. It borders her kingdom, and every human knows of the importance of Thebe. Their silk is one of the most desirable in the world. They are in the middle of the spices trade, as well. Thank The Mother, for infighting and self-serving lords." She gave him a cutting smile.

Perhaps this was the way to heal Nesta. She wasn’t a warrior like Feyre or a nurturer like Elain. Nesta was raised to be Queen. She was the girl who knew how many ships were needed to transport the humans to safety – _in a minute after proposing it_. 

He read about her Grandfather. He was a formidable leader. Controversial and ruthless, he has been holding the Kingdom of Francia together with an iron grip. Duke Ecthelion, despite being involved in one of the most brutal wars in recent history, managed to heal his country, even make it prosperous. 

Nesta spent five years – formative years - learning at his knee.

No wonder she and Rhysand can’t stand each other.

No wonder her sisters were failing. Nesta needed to be challenged, needed an incentive that is not physical but mental.

Nesta was like Ianthe, like Helion. And yes, she had the capacity to be like Beron, and Tam’s father, even Rhysand’s, who in many ways was the Fae version of her Grandfather. Once again, the reason for the dislike between Nesta and Rhysand was becoming clear.

“Queen Melisande returned to her kingdom and called her army.”

“Damn it, the second largest border of Francia is with Bretagne. Francia is going to be surrounded by enemies. What happened to King Oswald?”

“He died in his sleep. Most believed it to be of old age. but when his heir died before his coronation in a mysterious fall when he was visiting one of his mistresses.”

“How can someone plot such a stupid assassination?” Nesta shook her head, and Lucien bit a laugh. “Who is ruling?”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. Nesta’s smile was both beautiful and scary.

.

_December 21, 494_

_Velaris_

"You look well," Feyre said, unable to hide how she could feel the tension in the room.

"You as well." He complimented Feyre.

He looked at a fearful Elain clad in dusty pink silk. A gift from Feyre or any of the members of the circle, he was sure. "Both of you." He said in a soft tone.

Elain bowed her head, a gesture so submissive that he felt sick. It reminded him too much of his mother. However, while she acted submissive in public, she was far from it. The Lady of the Autumn Court was outspoken and assertive behind close-doors and had a leading role in court politics.

Still, she lived in fear of his father, and while her duty to her people was commandable, it made turned her into a withdrawn person. The way she had to survive Beron.

Lucien refused to make any woman feel like his mother, or believe she needed to be yielding towards him.

“You brought presents,” Feyre said, ending his heavy thoughts.

It was a painting set and a book on painters of the human world. The last one had been Nesta’s recommendation. A book that she somehow happened to have brand-new and was uninterested in reading.

“It’s Solstice tradition here, isn’t it?”

Feyre flinched. Lucien didn’t mean anything by it but couldn’t help but think how easy it was to get under her skin. _Why isn’t Rhysand training you? Court life will tear you to pieces_. 

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” Feyre said awkwardly.

Her eyes moved towards Elain, a quick move, but one he caught nevertheless.

Under any other circumstance, he would have refused such an obvious plot of matchmaking. However, Nesta told him during their reading time that she had been forced to join.

Not that Nesta would miss the festivity. It would be her last before she left. She wanted to inform her sister of her traveling plans and have time to convince Feyre of it. Both of them knew that Feyre would oppose because Rhysand would definitely do so.

It matter not, they would leave somewhere in the next two weeks.

“Thank you. I hope I am not troubling you.”

“Not at all. We haven’t seen you around.”

_I mostly hide at your sister’s apartment and make sure no one knows of it. We have a book club._

On this goddamned cold morning, Nesta read _“The History of Human Warfare: After the Separation, and the Fall of the Queens”_ on her window seat while savoring an apple from the Autumn Court. The book was Vassa’s gift. A huge tome had to weigh more than Nesta. 

Meanwhile, Lucien sat in her bed reading a history and geography book on Francia and its neighbor kingdoms. A ponderous reading, but a necessary one. He also tried to pretend he didn’t know that Nesta was exchanging letters with the High Lord of the Summer Court and that one was half-open in his line of view.

He was good at pretending. For example, right now, he was pretending not to know why Nesta gambled so damn much and that he knew most of the men in her company were from the court of Nightmares.

Or that he caught one of the members of Keir’s inner circle leaving her apartment, and when he asked her if he knew who he was because he worried for her safety, her reply had been,

_“Quite well, I’ve bedded him eight times. Not very gifted in the art of sex, but he loves to talk about himself and his all-important work. His friend shared the same traits. Such of gossipers those two. They let out all kinds of information for a good lay.”_

Lucien is going to keep Nesta as far away from Eris was fucking possible. Or perhaps he’ll watch her destroy his brothers.

“I …” Lucien pretended to fumble for the words, “I’ve been at the Spring Court every now and then. But if I’m not here in Velaris, I’ve mostly been staying with Jurian. And Vassa.”

Feyra straightened, still unable to keep herself from taking the bite. And probably hoping for any change not to talk about Spring. “Really? Where?”

“There’s an old manor house in the southeast, in the humans’ territory. Jurian and Vassa were … gifted it.”

It was actually Nesta's formal house. The one that Tamlin got Feyre's sisters and that Nesta made sure was hers officially. Nesta gave them the keys when they got permission to leave in the area.

She hadn't made a big deal out of it, as long as they promise to leave room untouched and hired all the people who worked there before, she didn't care what they did.

Apparently, they were many workers on the Archeron Estate. Most of them had been poor and came with children that apparently had been taught to read and write by Mistress Nesta. Vassa had taken over their education, with some help from Jurian.

“Rhys mentioned that they were still in Prythian. I didn’t realize it was such a permanent base.”

 _It is not_. Lucien nodded. “For now. While things are sorted out.”

“How are they—Jurian and Vassa?”

“Jurian …” Lucien blew out a breath, remembering the hidden council they had with the Francian messenger. How Jurian put his war skills and the love the humans have for him to good use. He and Vassa had become an unbeatable team afterward.

“Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true. He’s keeping everything running. I think he’d have been crowned king by now if it wasn’t for Vassa.”

Vassa wanted to organize the human lands in Prynthia before established any kingdom. Jurian also needed to be accepted by Francia as a sovereign, or they would have even more troubles.

"She's doing well enough. Savoring every second of her temporary freedom."

Learning to fight, find secret ways to communicate with allies. Charming Lords to the cause. All those things people that should be enjoying a time free of responsibility _don't do_.

"She and Jurian are getting along?"

Lucien remembered the beating Vassa gave Jurian in the training ground when it was suggested they marry. And how Vassa declared herself married to her country to the secret ambassadors.

“Vassa and Jurian are two sides of the same coin. Mercifully, their vision for the future of the human territories is mostly aligned. But the methods on how to attain that …”

Vassa wants to wage war on most of the Queen. Jurian wanted to use coups instead of battles. Neither wanted the queens ruling anything.

Both gave Lucien headaches.

He looked at Elain who seemed to be trying to figure out what he wasn’t saying.

“This isn’t very Solstice-like.” Lucien tried to move the conversation as he looked at Elain.

“I should get refreshments.” The middle Archeron got up and ran away as fast as she could. Lucien tried to hide his troubled conscience from his friend by offering her a sad smile.

He dreamt of having a mate as every Fae did. But not always had been something he wished for.

As a young boy, when love was the best thing, he used to picture her in his mind.

After he discovered the heartache of losing a lover, it was something he suppressed for decades.

When he cut ties with his family and was welcome in the Spring Court, things changed. He had work, a house, and a future that had nothing to do with his bloodline. Love had turned into something to look for.

Now, it was something that confused him and left him feeling horrible. He could see the fear in Elain's doe eyes, and he didn't know what to do.

Worse was Feyre’s pity. She acted like she was his older sister, and he a boy with a passing fancy who got his heart broken. Lucien was starting to see why Nesta refused to attend dinners with the Inner Circle.

It didn’t matter. Soon, he would be away from all of this.

So would Nesta.

Speaking of his co-conspirator.

“How are your sisters?”

Feyre pinched her lips. “Nesta has been causing troubles. But we’ll manage it. She will get better, she just needs some incentive.”

Lucien slumped into his armchair, to mask his anger at her words. He let out a deep breath. Calm yourself, Lucien. Don’t give the game away. “And Elain?”

“Better. She makes no mention of her abilities. If they remain.”

“Good.” Nesta would probably be happy if Elain was no longer burnt with the visions. “But is she still …”

_Cry herself to sleep? Has nightmares of being turned? Feels lost?_

Neither of those questions would make sense asked from him.

“Does she still mourn him?”

Feyre chewed on her lip. Her greatest tell, one that spoke of carefully chosen words, or lies.

“She was deeply in love with him, Lucien.”

Lucien felt a shimmering of rage. It was a fast feeling but felt him feeling sick with himself. The girl is younger than Nesta. _Nesta who you compared to a child not long ago_. Elain has been through life changing events and doesn’t need an overgrown, possessive male around her.

_Besides, Nesta will end your life in the most painful way imaginable._

“It has only been a few months. Graysen made it clear that the engagement is ended, but it might take her a while longer to move past it.”

He could imagine the through running through Feyre’s mind. _Not everyone is your High Lord and his inner circle. I can keep myself from hitting the ex-fiancé of a girl I have no claim on_.

Lucien tried once. The memory made him dig his fingers into the arms of the chair.

He remembered the way Graysen spoke of the woman he professed to love, how he had dismissed Nesta, who had been his right hand for a year.

Jurian had to stop him from killing him. Vassa, however, verbally killed him, which was much more satisfying.

“He’s as fine a prick as any I’ve ever encountered.”

After spending so much time with Nesta, it was shocking seeing such similar eyes so open. Lucien could almost read Feyre’s thoughts. See the conclusions she was coming to. All of them wrong.

Graysen, above all, a political pain in the ass. He had been the leader of Nesta's fraction. Jurian and Vassa were working with them, for they were the ones who supported a unified kingdom and a reformation. Graysen, while being the most vocal about the reformations, wanted to be king. The independent countries wanted Jurian.

If it came to war, Graysen had the power to back it up. Jurian's supporters were too apart in the land. 

“I would agree with you on that. But remember that they were engaged. Give her time to accept it.”

Lucien almost felt sorry for his next words.

“To accept a life shackled to me?”

Feyre’s anger was exactly what he expected, and Lucien wished he could roll his eyes. She was the one pushing him towards Elain.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

“Would you, if your positions were reversed?”

_Do I look like a puppy following Elain around? I am not your mate who couldn’t wait to marry you, despite being the right thing to do._

Lucien knew Feyre very well. He was growing to know Nesta in a way he believed very few knew. He barely knew Elain.

_But do you know me at all, Feyre? I helped you even after you killed my friend because you were nothing more than a frightened girl in a world too big for you to jump into. Sometimes I think you still are that girl._

He looked at her. She looked healthier, happy, and free. Comfortable in her life, in her title.

Mor’s father was the de facto ruler of most of her land. He controlled most of the food and had more people loyal to him than Rhysand had to him. A civil war in Illyria was on the horizon, and the only reason it hadn’t broken free was that the soldiers and the commoners were loyal to their General. Not Rhysand. Cassian.

_How can Nesta know all this, when she spends most of her days slowly killing herself and you at last act like you don’t?_

Act happy and lounge as if the world wasn't about to burn. Perhaps Feyre was a better actor they Lucien gave her credit for.

“After Solstice wraps up, why don’t you come stay for a week or two? Not in your apartment, I mean. Here, at the town house.”

_Again, who is pushing you, dear Feyre?_

“And do what?”

“Spend time with her.”

“I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.”

He turned away. He couldn't look at her. 

Feyre and her obsession with coupling everyone would never end, it would seem. Why couldn't she understand that not everyone was like her and Rhysand?

 _Thanks to the Mother, the world would fall apart,_ a voice that sounded too much like Nesta said.

Lucien stared at the flames dancing in the fireplace. The Night Court was too damn cold for someone like him. Besides the flames reminded him of whom he was. Flames reminded Lucien of his mother, Mariel, who in a way was a fire made flesh.

“I’d hoped,” He turned back to Feyre and took notice of her nervous look, “that when you rented the apartment, it meant you would come work here. With us. Be our human emissary.”

“Am I not doing that now?” He arched a brow. “Am I not sending twice-weekly reports to your spymaster?”

_I give him all the information he thinks he needs, like a good lapdog, and hiding what I don’t need him to know. It’s a perfect working relationship._

“You could come live here, is all I’m saying. Truly live here, stay in Velaris for longer than a few days at a time. We could get you nicer quarters —”

Lucien got to his feet. “I don’t need your charity.”

She followed his movement. “But Jurian and Vassa’s is fine?”

“You’d be surprised to see how the three of us get along.”

“So you’d rather stay with them?”

“I’m not staying with them. The manor is _ours_.” 

“Interesting.”

“What is.” Lucien whirred. It worked to infuriate Feyre. 

“That you now feel more comfortable with humans than with the High Fae. If you ask me—”

“I’m not.” 

_But you’ll say it anyway._

“It seems like you’ve decided to fall in with two people without homes of their own as well.”

Lucien stared, long and hard. _How can you be so blind, Feyre?_

He remembered Jurian’s care for the children, the time he spent training them. He worked with the humans, organizing councils, visiting workers, seeing the villages, having a private meeting. He worked until he was falling asleep on the first surface he could find.

Vassa, an exiled Queen, worked twice as hard as most High Lords he knew for the good of her people. Coordinated with her council to ensure the people were fed and clothed. That criminality would not raise her away to hold court. She worked for them despite the probability of never seeing her homeland again, despite fearing that her people would reject her.

And Nesta. He didn't know where to begin when it came to Nesta. The sister Feyre saw as a problem likely was writing letters to Prince Dorian and Vassa, even her grandfather and Lucien's own father.

When he spoke, his voice was rough. “Happy Solstice to you, Feyre.”

He was already in the foyer when a hand on his arm halt him.

“I didn’t mean that,” Feyre said, but they both knew she did. “You have a home here. If you want it.”

Lucien studied the sitting room, the foyer beyond, and the dining room on its other side.

His mind flashed back to the time spent in her bedroom, which with a book, either in silence or sharing their views. The great hall they had in the Mansion, back in the human lands, where Vassa scholarly voice as she taught kids that would never have a chance to be taught. Jurian’s frustration over some land dispute while sharing a drink with Lucien and his patience explained to the Fae why it was complicated.

Nesta’s devotion to keeping herself from truly breaking apart so that she could help the country she hadn’t lived in half her life. What she was willing to sacrifice for the people who had abandoned her family in a time of need.

 _Humanity_. Lucien was beginning to love that word.

“The Band of Exiles.”

“The what?”

“That’s what we call ourselves. The Band of Exiles.”

“You have a name for yourselves.”He could see the jesting in Feyre’s mind.

He nodded.

“Jurian isn’t in exile.”

And that showed while Nesta lived and breathed one, but Feyre never saw herself as such.

“Jurian’s kingdom is nothing but dust and half-forgotten memory, his people long scattered and absorbed into other territories. He can call himself whatever he likes.”

“And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?”

 _What do you think being a ruler is like?_ Those events allow politics to be shared, policies parties to be formed.

“You can be as much of an asshole as that mate of yours, you know that?”

Because Rhysand was to blame. _Can you see yourself Feyre? When you came to Spring, and fought toe and nail to keep your humanity, your character, your soul. You showed me what courage looked like. How driven you were to be independent of a man. And now, I can separate you from your mate._

“I’m sorry. I just—”

_Nesta, forgive every judging word I thought about you._

“I don’t have anywhere else to go. You ruined any chance I have of going back to Spring. Not to Tamlin, but the court beyond his house.” _My home. The place Ianthe and I dedicated our lives to see flourish, only to see it crumble before our eyes_. “Everyone either still believes the lies you spun, or they believe me complicit in your deceit. And as for here …” He shook off my grip and headed for the door. 

A pretty, white door with golden details, polished to perfection. A shining, blank page. Not Nesta’s door of remembrance.

Nesta hated Velaris. She never said it, but it was obvious.

Lucien was beginning to see why.

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

_I can stand seeing another woman being absorbed by a man. My mother did it for her people. What are you doing it for?_

“Tamlin sent it to our manor yesterday. My clothes. My belongings. All of it. He had it sent from the Spring Court and dumped on the doorstep.”

He had run to Nesta’s old door as soon as he saw it. She kicked off that male from Keir’s inner circle before he could see Lucien and then threw him a book to read. It was perfect.

Lucien didn’t have to think about his old friend, his best friend, his brother in what truly matters. The secrets they shared. The lost dreams. Ianthe’s broken hands, her beautiful broken mind. The woman who ruled the Spring Court with dignity and was despised by everyone all the same. People saw Ianthe’s mistakes, not the years she spent building back the land. The blood she literally spread – her own, never others - over the land.

 _We all betray her in the end. And the worst part was that she knew we would do it_.

"Why?"

Feyre's face was full of anger. The anger she probably believed he would enjoy seeing because it was towards Tamlin. He didn't.

Tamlin believed the man who called himself his brother was a traitours snake, the same time he lost the closest thing he had to an older sister. And his wife-to-be.

But Feyre didn't care about anyone's pain if you didn't leave in the Night Court.

“Perhaps it had something to do with your mate’s visit the other day.”

“Rhys didn’t involve you in that.”

_So, you knew. I don’t know you at all, do I?_

“He might as well have. Whatever he said or did, Tamlin decided he wishes to remain in solitude. Your mate should have known better than to kick a downed male.”

“I can’t say I’m particularly sorry that he did.”

Burning. Prynthia would burn to the ground. Lucien planned to be far away from it when it came.

“You will need Tamlin as an ally before the dust has settled. Tread carefully.”

“My business with him is done.”

_You still don’t get how ruling works. Rhysand should be teaching you. Preparing you. The courts will destroy you if he doesn’t prepare you. So much for being a High Lady in your right._

“Yours might be, but Rhys’s isn’t. And you’d do well to remind your mate of that fact.”

He watched the emotions flick across Feyre’s eyes and realize he felt pity for her. 

Pity because she was a child amidst people who should be adults. 

And guilt because they should have seen it. He, the Spring Court, the Inner Circle.

We should have taken time to realize what was in front of us wasn’t a savior, but a girl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Feyre said in a perfect copy of her mate. The fake boredom that he so liked to project made him be disliked by most High Lords. Deep down, Rhysand wasn't faking it at all. 

_You once told me you hated when he did that. But that was a year ago when you hated him._

“The bigger box is for you. The smaller one is for her.”

Lucien was about to leave when a soft voice called for him.

Elain was half-hidden behind Feyre. Her eyes were fixed on his. This time, there was no submissiveness in them.

“You’ll come for dinner. You promise.”

_“Feyre is holding my money hostage. I have to go to their party to get it.” Nesta said, between a turn of a page._

_“You don’t need their money. You haven’t for months.” He looked at her. Still too waif-like, but the deathless had left her eyes._

_One step at a time._

_“But they don’t know what. They think I can’t make it on my own, and I rather they don’t find out how I got my money.”_

_“How you became a card shark while ruling a small illegal gambling enterprise?” He said in that merry tone he knew she pretended to hate._

_“There is no rule in the Night Court against casinos or gambling.”_

_“A flue in their system that I am sure you love to take advantage of.”_

_“The House always wins.” She gave him a sharp smile. Her face turned colder. “I’ll still have to do. Perhaps I’ll arrive drunk.”_

_You’re not alone anymore, Nesta._

_“I will be going as well.”_

_I promise, Nesta._

_Something changed in her eyes, barely, but it did._

_She turned back the page._

“You promised,” Elain repeated.

“I’ll be here for dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set up a Pinterest board for those who wish to follow the story with some images I use for inspiration. It is under margot1996david.
> 
> Well wishes to everyone.


	4. Vassa I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we see the human front.  
> Vassa and Jurian attend a ball, and Vassa is not jealous nor does feel threatened, thank you very much.  
> And we meet a new princess, because why not?

Chapter 3- Vassa I

_December 21, 494_

_Archeron’s Estate_

"Wake up, you lazy lordship." Vassa threw Jurian's sheets onto the ground, caring little for his state of undress.

"By the Mother, Vassa! I'm naked!"

"I've seen worse." She replied drily as her housemate covered himself. "Now, get up. There is an important Ball tonight in case you’re forgetting."

"It is hard to forget when you've been screaming about it for weeks," He muttered.

Vassa chose to ignore him. "Get up. The kids are planning a surprise play for us."

"Is it a surprise if we know?" Jurian asked sarcastically

Vassa gave him a hard stare.

"Fine, I'll get dress."

Vassa continued to stare until he eventually got up, red-faced, and tried to cover himself. The Queen of Scythia left the room, pleased that she managed to wake Jurian.

Outside, a woman awaited her.

Lady Theodora was the daughter and heiress to one of Scythia's biggest lordships. Theodora had been her oldest friend, having grown up together. Theodora's dark brown hair had been something that distinguished amongst the highborn of Scythia. Such shade was mostly seen in the commoners. In their youth, she did everything to cover it. Nowadays, she exhibited it with pride. As she should, for her hair shone brightly and made her doe eyes even more innocent looking. 

Thea had asked Vassa's mother- the Queen Regent Tessa - if she could come and serve Vassa as she had done before all went to shit. Finding her in the Archeron's old house had been the highlight of her year. A familiar and trustworthy face.

"Your Grace, is Lord Jurian ready?"

Thea's timid might have been a thing of the past. The girl crossed half a continent and an ocean to help her friend. But she still blushed at handsome and heroic knights. It was good to see not everything went away with time.

"You expect too much of Jurian, Theodora. I already permitted the maids to throw him cold water if needed."

"Lord Jurian spent the evening with the lords." She lowered her voice so that no one would hear them. The corridors had ears, and one must always be careful. "He arrived very late in the night. I caught the maids gossiping about it in the kitchens. Lord Jurian seemed to have had a - festive evening."

"You mean a group of rich and entitled men spent their evening gamblings and whoring." Theodora's olive skin turned almost red - a feat Vassa could no longer have. Vassa put her hands on her chest in a dramatic way. "What debauchery! For shame!"

Thea put her hands on her right arm. "Your Grace." She tried to sound properly scandalized, but her pouty lips were pressed together to stop a laugh.

"It is a shame they haven't invited us. Jurian should know better."

Thea’s belly laugh warmed something inside her.

Vassa missed her home.

.

.

The ground and gardens were covered in snow.

The perfect representation of winter.

Vassa wasn't used to celebrate the Winter Solstice. Sure, the court had a ball every year, but the biggest celebration was the New Year. It was Vassa's favorite day. They spent the first hours outside, candles in hand, singing of property, family, and fresh starts while sitting by a pool or a lake, feet in the water. By the time they went inside, it was early morning. Bunch would be served, feet wetting the floors, and laughter on the air.

There would be nothing of that this time around. Vassa would organize a large ball to host important figures in the politics of the human realms.

By then, she expected many would have made their decisions and treaties.

Lord Graysen would be the host of today's festivities. Lords from the four human regions would be present. Even the Kingdom of Tamara and the Duchy of Gaerloyn sent family members to the party.

"What are you thinking about?"

Jurian stood by the door of her antechamber.

Vassa did a second take at him. The formal human general dressed like most knights. And while his utilitarian clothes were of the best of quality, they weren't exactly the time one would expect a would-be King to wear.

But when Jurian tried, he looked like a prince out of a fairytale. He wore a form-fitting white silk shirt under a satin waistcoat of dark midnight and trousers of the same color. His jacket was on his hands. What surprised her was the silk scarf embroidered in gold and silver thread. While it wasn't used 500 years ago, nowadays it symbolized a high-ranking member of society. Depending on the pattern, it would either mean a military leader or ruler. His hair was coifed to perfection, but he was unshaved. Jurian was the rogue prince her mother used to warn her about, and by the sly grin in his eyes, he was well aware of it.

"Festivities and cultures."

He nodded in understanding. Jurian sat in the window seat facing her, his expression darkened.

"Winter Solstice wasn't a big deal in my time, but back then, humans were slaves." Even with his arms crossed, she could see his fisted hands. His entire body tensed. Humans didn't forget their origins. But one thing was knowing and learning of it, but Jurian lived in a world where slavery was common for humans. "During the war, the army refused to celebrate the day, much like we did with all Fae celebrations."

"Some of the older countries, the ones who weren't enslaved, don't celebrate it. At times I think only the rich make such a big deal. Most commoners take the time to spend the day with family. The biggest celebrations are those of the New Year and the Harvest Feasts."

"I told Lord Graysen we shouldn't even celebrate it."

"It is a tradition at this point."

"That's what he told me. We did agree to make New Year Eve the biggest celebration."

"Are you ready for what is to come?"

"No, but I have full confidence in our team and plans." he looked at the window. "5 centuries ago, my enemies were Fae. Now I plot against my own race. There are days where I wonder what Miryam must think of me." His face was heartbreaking to behold.

Vassa fought the urge to hug him. Jurian wouldn't like it, he tried to avoid physical contact as much as possible. They had learned that sudden contact wasn't a good idea when it came to Jurian. Had Lucien been human when he tried, he would be dead. Knowing all that which Jurian went through, it didn't surprise her.

"All I wanted was to be her hero, be worthy of her love."

"No human who knows history looks at you doesn't see a hero."

It was the truth.

"They see a god," he scoffed. "A gift of the Mother. If I was it, I would begin to wonder if the Mother hated us all."

"Perception and reputation are more important than the truth."

"Quoting old men's philosophies now?" He gave her a sly grin. "I like my reputation amongst those Fae."

There was nothing kind about his expression, but the darkness that scared most. 

"Unless the faes are Lucien and Nesta, I care little of their opinion."

"Nesta isn't a Fae." He whispered with a cruel grin. "One day she'll let the world Know."

Vassa's knowledge and way of thinking might have not been the same as a year prior, and she prided herself on growing in the ways of the world. However, she wasn't ready to accept whatever old truth was in Jurian's words.

"If you don't want to be King, you know there is always a place for you in my court."

Vassa's mind flashed to the letters from her mother, about grandchildren and her need to find a consort. Jurian, while not being what she desired, wouldn't be a bad choice. No one would question her rule with one of the greatest warriors in history by her side.

"I know little of the ways of the east. I was born here, I shall die here. Besides, despite not imagining myself as a king, I cannot deny not wanting it."

"Graysen does too."

"I know men like him very well. He prefers to be the power behind the throne, especially when he knows how fractioned this land is."

"He knows it would be a lifetime of work and likely people waging war on you."

"One land, one kingdom. That was the vision we had. Not five petty kingdoms constantly fighting another for a bit of land."

To Vassa, that was the continent. But she was well aware that the Continent had countries older than the Wall. Vassa's own bosted almost a millennium of history. Yet, they were never enslaved, unlike the human lands of Prynthia or kingdoms like Francia.

"That is why we cannot compete with the continent, it is like we grew little in 500 years. Graysen might be a cunning and ambitious bastard, but he knows it too. You can't build a strong country when you are constantly fighting with your neighbors."

"Well, you have my vote of confidence. For what is worth in a land that cares little for it."

"I care." He said with great gravity. "I would, you know," he turned to her. "I would marry you if I was capable of growing to love you. You don't deserve a husband who can't love you."

She offered him a nod but had to fight the tears in her eyes. A part of her screamed in anger. Jurian had sacrificed his love, honor, and life to end slavery, only to be cursed to see the world he fought for and not be able to love it. Love. Aramantha's curse and his resurrection cost him the ability to love. No wonder Lucien had found him bleeding on a bathtub not long ago.

"I saw the guest list. Every kingdom sent a princess or a great lady. A pity them when they finally meet their prince charming."

“Well, we should probably get ready to leave.” She said getting up from the seat.

.

.

_December 21, 494_

_Graysen’s Estate_

"May I introduce you to Queen Vassa." Graysen guided her to a man in his mid-forties with a noble bearing.

"Your Highness," he kissed her offered hand. "It is an honor to meet such a brave queen, especially in times like the ones we live in. And I must say the rumors of your beauty do you no justice."

Vassa pretended to look pleased with the compliment. "Lord Graysen has spoken of your many years of commitment to the ruling of Tamara. Diligence was something that one must always strive for, as my father used to say."

He didn't. Vassa learned the importance of diligence from her mother. Vassa's father had died when she was twelve, and he cared little for governance. Her mother was the de facto ruler, and everyone knew it. It was why no one questioned her regency and why Vassa had a throne to get back to.

"A worthy ruler."

"Undoubtedly. But we all know that no matter how diligent we are, it can't get us farther without allies."

His courtly smile turned sharper. "That is why we are here, is it not?"

The most western kingdom, Tamara was founded 400 years ago, being the oldest and proudest, but not the richest. A land of mountains and vales, perfect for natural defense, but not for a boasting economy.

"Tamara, best than most, knows the pains of war and how important alliances are."

The mountains had served as a slave colony before the War of Freedom. From what Graysen told her, the two of the slave camps were left untouched. A testimony to the horrors inflicted on the humans during their period of captivity.

"Our kingdom is also very aware that our proud mountains were the reason why Fae didn't attack us first."

In actuality, Tamara was the least of their concerns.

"Unfortunately, not all share the same fortune." Graysen countered.

"I agree, and I offer my condolences to any habitant of Wendlyn. Those monsters care only for violence."

"I presumed the same, and for the most part, I still firmly believe they are a danger to humans, but I have met a couple of them that showed there is honor and, I dare say humanity, in them. I found those most willing to side with us against our enemies."

Graysen had a way for words that put him above most of his group. He could say the most stupid of things, but the cultural and confident way he spoke made it sound like the most brilliant of ideas.

"I am surprised you speak in favor tone, Lord Graysen. Have you not lost your beloved fiancé and Lady Nesta to these creatures?"

Graysen played the heartbroken knight to perfection. "I will always treasure my time with Elain. As for the Lady Nesta, you shall see her soon, your grace."

The man's surprise was impossible to hide. Then, like most, they spoke with that shocked turned to intrigue. "There were rumors you were hosting a fae, but I've been told he was male."

"You are well informed," Graysen said, then he added more genially. "I was told your daughter would be joining you? Princess Sorcha? I fear I have not yet been introduced to her."

The man brightened and turned around. He touched someone's shoulder, and soon he was introducing this Princess Sorcha. Vassa's first thought was, _not another one_. The Queen was tired of meeting possible marriage candidates for Jurian. Why people seem to believe she would be the one to play match-making with Jurian with anyone was beyond her.

Her second thought was, _poor girl_.

"Lord Graysen, Queen Vassa, may I introduce you to my beloved daughter, Princess Sorcha of Tamara."

The girl's bow was perfect, and the smile she offered Vassa dainty. Unlike most women who wore white, the princess chose a gown of the lightest turquoise that still could be passed as winter-themed, but barely. Her outfit and neck were bare of jewelry, something almost unseen in the highest raking women. Her honey hair braided back, and atop her head was a delicate tiara of diamonds and topazes.

Princess Sorcha wasn't the most beautiful woman present, but she was pretty, with delicacy to her features, made worse by her small stature and petite figure. Her blue eyes were the colors of a cloudless sky and were without a doubt her best trait. Otherwise, one could say she was almost unremarkable. She seemed kind, and that was a plus to Vassa, who spent her evening meeting shrew and ambitious women.

_A breath of fresh air this one._

“A pleasure meeting you princess,” Vassa said, truthfully.

The girl seemed to brighten when she heard her words. “It is my pleasure, your Grace.”

"My Sorcha is the kindest of souls. My pearl," her father boasted, making the girl blush.

This one is too gentle for a soul like Jurian. How her father cannot see it?

"Are you enjoying your time here, princess?"

"It's a beautiful land. Papa and I visited the town yesterday. It is much larger than what I am used to, but I am sure I'll get to meet many interesting people."

Something close to pity stirred in Vassa, for she could sense the loneliness in the girl. "If the princess would like, tomorrow we could have some tea?"

Her eyes sparkled. "I would love to, your highness. Can I go, Papa?"

"Of course, my pearl."

.

.

Vassa opened her dancing card in Jurian's arms. She had to threaten him with violence, but he agreed to do it. Despite the presence of a Queen, Jurian was the star of the night. The ambassadors and lords all wanted to speak with the man many called future king.

Vassa, however, had to have people asking about her home and the clothes she had worn. She would be the first to admit she looked pretty damn good, but the veiled commentary on her choice made her furious as the night went on. Vassa went with the theme of the night and wore white. But unlike the ladies, who dressed in the latest fashions, Vassa wore a caftan, the traditional wear of her country. White satin embroidered in gold, a gold necklace, and a crown of gold and rubies. She was the Queen of Scythia and would dress like one.

"Bristol and Wessex rivalry is making negotiations impossible."

"What did the ambassadors said to you?"

"One country will go the opposite of the other. But both want to stay independent."

"The ambassador of Gaerloyw is willing to treat," Vassa told him. Jurian raised an eyebrow. "He was surprised that you were willing to allow let each Kingdom juridical power. He agreed that one code of law was something he approved."

"But is Gaerlowyn willing to bend the knee?"

"It depends on Bristol and Wessex. The duchy knows that if war breaks, they will be the battleground of the two kingdoms. They want to spare bloodshed."

"Which leaves us, again dealing with those two."

They talked stop as they were separated. The next part of the dance separated the couples across the ballroom. Vassa twirl and counted in her mind each compass. These court dances were more difficult than what she was used to, too stiff and full of rules. But Vassa loved dancing, so she learned them.

"If war breaks, we need at least one of them on our side. Which one depends on what side Gaerloyw and Tamara side with." He kept whispering. "I was surprised to see the King of Tamara here."

"He brought his daughter as well. His only child, Graysen informed me."

Jurian's step almost faltered. "Another? I am tired of these women. They are all the same."

"I thought you liked women sly and ambitious?"

"I do when they have the brains to pack it up."

"Well, you can't have Nesta."

His face turned sly as a cat.

"Don't even say it."

"I won't. Besides, I am not brave enough to pursue Nesta. Nor would something get out of it. Or don't you remember our biggest ally is married to Nesta?"

"It is something one doesn't forget easily."

"Besides, I need to marry a human girl. Did you like this princess of Tamara?"

"She's pretty. A little flower without a single thorn."

"Boring?"

"I liked her. She likes horseriding and can hold a conversation. But she is too gentle minded for what is to come."

"Hum." Vassa didn't have the time to ask what was in his mind because the song ended, and she had found another partner.

For the next dances, Vassa was able to confirm the tidbits of information Jurian gave her. But it was clear that the ambassador of Bristol was surprised to see the King of Tamara present. And the only kingdom to border Tamara, Bristol position was sudden more worrisome.

If Tamara sided with them, Bristol might follow as well.

The ambassador of Wessex cared little for a woman's opinion, even if she was a Queen. He spent the window of opportunity to speak with her by talking about her ladylike hobbies.

"I want Bristol on our side," Vassa said as soon as she found herself sharing a dance with Graysen.

He couldn't keep the mirthfulness from his laugh. "Yes, the ambassador of Wessex has some old opinions on woman's positions in life. I must warn your that the royal family shares many similar views."

"Perfect. Do they have daughters we can give their lands to?"

"No. The king has a son and four nephews. He is looking for a new bride. He is in his middle forties. I can write to him."

"If you wish to marry him, Graysen, I won't stop you."

"He's not my type."

"What about the princess of Tamara?"

He gave her a look.

"What, she seems like your type."

He stared at her incredulous. "You're joking. That little viper?"

"What? Princess Sorcha, she's like a delicate flower."

"By the Mother," Graysen seemed to think the situation hilarious. "You didn't buy her act, did you?"

"Act?"

"Goddess, Vassa. The woman is like a viper in the grass. Her father is by all accounts a fool, charming, but a fool, yet the country has been peaceful and prosperous as they can be."

Graysen's ability to know everyone's business was remarkable. No wonder he and Nesta got along.

"Does she have a living mother?"

"No. But yours would have liked her. Had a spine of iron that one. Much left a mark on the king, he never remarried, something that surprised many, since he only has a daughter for an heir."

"That called your attention."

"And Nesta's. They were pen pals."

"I can't believe it," Vassa spoke.

"Look at your left."

She did so. In the middle of the dancefloor, Jurian was leading the Princess of Tamara in a dance.

.

.

_December 22, 494_

_Archeron’s Estate_

Vassa's entered the dining room and found Jurian already there. Taking into account the late evening they both had, she was surprised he was awake in time for them to sure brunch. Jurian's bed-hair was all over the place, and his naked chest could be seen from the nightgown he had on.

"Morning," he spoke in a clear voice.

Vassa poured herself a cup of coffee - too much watered for her taste. She missed strong expressos.

"You look too sleepy for someone who planned a tea party for this afternoon."

She glared at her housemate. His lips moved up.

"It's a lunch between two people, not a party."

"Hum."

Vassa ignored him in favor of the tasking food in front of her, and Jurian joined her in.

"How did you knew about the tea?"

"Princess Sorcha told me."

Vassa swallowed her coffee and wished for something stronger. Was it too early in the morning for alcohol? Probably.

"I saw you dancing with her."

"Yes. She does smells like roses. Being one, however, not so much."

She put down her spoon and turned fully to him. "Fine. I give you this next ten seconds to laugh at me."

"Half a minute." He countered, drily.

"What did you find about her?"

"That she is the true ruler of Tamara. And expires to be much more than Queen of Tamara. And she is not a flower without thorns."

Something turned inside her belly.

"Did you like her?"

"I need to spend more time with her to see if I should marry her."

Vassa tensed. "That was not what I asked."

Jurian softened his cool expression, "Come on Vas, we both know I will marry a powerful lady from this continent. Marrying the heiress of Tamara is a good deal for us. Bristol will likely side with us out of fear, and we'll have Wessex having to fight on both sides."

Despite being born expecting to marry for alliance making, Vassa still felt something in her belly at the matter-of-fact way he spoke of tying himself to someone for his life.

"If she is such a good candidate, why wait?"

"I need to be on the same page as her. The last thing I need is my wife to try to kill me as soon as she births an heir and a spare."

"Do you have any plans with her?"

"In two days. If the weather allows us, I plan on taking her horseriding through the countryside."

It sounded romantic, nothing that she expected of her cynical companion.

"Unchaperoned?"

"Graysen is taking one of the girls from the party, and there will be guards. You could come."

"I'll pass. I should host something with the ambassadors."

"Wessex's won't come."

"You noticed it."

"That he thinks women should be dainty things that belong at home. Wasn't hard to notice it. You should hear what he had to say about the women at the part."

"Especially me?"

"He was displeased to see you in traditional Scythian wear."

"He does not realize I am the Queen of said country?"

"I told him it was a way for your to remember your home. He said something about exile and unnatural leaders. I can't wait to see you and Nesta in the same room as that bastard."

"I hope Nesta reminds him who killed the King of Hybern."

Jurian's sly grin would frighten almost anyone. It said something about Vasa that she saw her friend in him.

"I need you to watch Sorcha during tea."

"She played me a fool, of course, I will watch her."

.

.

Vassa would never admit to having spent two hours deciding on what to wear. She went with green satin and a gold belt that came from the wardrobe her mother had sent. The color looked fantastic in her and made her look seductive yet regal. Thea was clad in chemise of white silk and a gown of light pink.

The two old friends were talking in their motherland language when Princess Sorcha was announced. Vassa led the introduction and allowed the tea to be poured. As the conversation went to trivial subjects, she took the time to observe the doe-eyed girl.

The Princess of Tamara wore a pleated gown of coral pink. The fitted bodice and large puff sleeves of the newest fashion. It made her figure seemed fuller than it really was.

She looked much the same as before, but now Vassa noticed other things. The princess never spoke first but somehow seemed in control of the flow of conversation. Her posture was prim and proper, but her sweet smile didn't reach her eyes. Her speech, while soft-spoken, was articulated.

The Princess of Tarama was a damn good actress. And dangerous.

"Princess, we never have an opportunity to speak during the party. I got to know little about her grace."

"Please, your highness, call me Sorcha." She said with a dimpled smile.

"Than, I propose we leave the titles outside in the spirit of a growing friendship. I found so little companionship of the gentler gender nowadays."

"I hope to be worthy of such opportunity."

Vassa gave her a knowing smile. "You already are, Princess. I must say I was surprised." Those doe-eyes turned to Thea for a second. "There are no secrets between the Lady Theodora and me."

"This continent isn't used to women in positions of power. Not in the traditional sense." The princess put her teacup on the table. Her speech, while soft, had little of docileness, "I have two uncles who are very much waiting to either usurper my claim or marry it. My father, I love him, and my loyalty to him is unquestionable. He cares for the people in ways many rulers lack. But doesn't have the sharpest of minds."

"But you do."

She offered Vassa a little knowing smile. "I learned a long time ago that men tend to overlook women, especially when they act in ways expected of them. But while my father hears me above all, and his councilmen know I am the one administrating the kingdom, the lords won't allow me to rule without a husband by my side."

Vassa didn't hide the frustration and understanding she left. Scythia had no trouble accepting women as rulers, the eldest always inherited the throne, but many countries didn't even allow women the right to rule.

"And who would make a better than someone who many believe will be the future High King. No one would question my authority."

Vassa looked her over. Her confidence and intelligence would make her a great Queen, despite her youth. Twenty. The princess was seven years her junior. Seven years ago, Vassa dreamt of a great legacy, happy subjects, and handsome knights.

"And what does Jurian gain? Perhaps your uncles would be willing to bend the knee if we made them rulers of Tamara."

"They would, without a doubt. But I offer legitimacy and my intelligence. Our future king has shown himself clever, and no one can deny his military record, but we know it takes more than that to rule, especially to someone who ... hasn't been around for a long time. I have the experience in governance he lacks."

Pretty, clever, and deadly. Jurian would pick her over the many other propositions without a thought.

"Not loyalty?" Vassa asked with a raised eyebrow.

She didn't even blink before responding, "My loyalty is Tamara and my family." Her lips curled, "unless they are my uncles."

Vassa leaned back, "I like you, princess. I truly do. I won't deny that what you just said was true. That it wasn't cross my mind that Jurian needs a partner much more than a consort. But you are young. I am sure you lack no candidates to be your consort. And while they won't offer you such a crown as the one Jurian might, you aren't smart enough to know the uncertainty of siding with us."

"A player has to place high bets at times if they want to win big."

"But can the player deal with the consequences of that win? Your parents had an arranged marriage that grew into love. Your father was loyal and good to her. Jurian will allow you more independence than most husbands. He might even grant you the solo rule of Tamara, but your marriage won't be like that of your parents."

Sorcha's eyes seemed to clear. "I can accept my husband will keep a mistress as long he does it away from the court. Quietly and hidden."

Vassa kept her expression controlled. "You may rest, for Jurian won't be parading mistresses around. And while I am his partner and housemate, we never share a bed and never will. But while he might listen to your opinions and give you a pleasurable marriage bed and grant you agency independent of his own, you won't have his heart."

"Love happens with time."

"Not with Jurian. Jurian won't grow to love you. He can't."

"Is there another he left behind?"

"Not in the way you imagine." Vassa considered her options. "Jurian can't love."

"Can't or won't."

"Can't. And I will say no more. You may ask him when you feel that he will answer you truthfully. But if you go through with this, you must know that love is something you must sacrifice."

Sorcha raised her head. "I was raised to be married off for the welfare of my kingdom. A marriage of state, not of love. I made my peace with it long ago. I rather have respect than love."

"It is easier to say it now, but in twenty, forty years? Think princess, get to know him, and then think some more. Then you can see what you’ll make your peace with."

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’ll be back to the Night Court next and at the end of the ACOFAS. There won't be spoilers of the new book because honestly, I try to read it, I truly did, but I can't 
> 
> Now, a little pool (I might start doing those).  
> Which POV do you want Nesta meeting with Dorian from each POV?  
> a. Nesta POV  
> b. Dorian POV. His first in this story.  
> c. Other
> 
> I tried to put a map of the human lands (with the separated territories, but it is not working) for those who which to see it, it is in my Pinterest account.


End file.
